Tip #195: In finding apartments and tenants (and very good husbands) it only takes one.
On Monday morning, I bought two small bunches of hydrangeas from the bodega on the corner. The plan was to photograph the apartment, as quickly and efficiently as possible, while James performed his primary parenting duty these days: pack animal. He’s been carting children and filled water bottles from park to park during the hottest days of the year, so I guess I’ll just go ahead and wait to be sainted in my next lifetime.
After the requisite scooping up of discarded sticker sheets and pajamas that didn’t quite make it to the hamper, I snapped quick photos of our apartment and sat down to draft a listing that I’m sure is too verbose. But who can blame me? How else to share the way we watch the sunset in the clerestory of the church across the street?
This morning, I ran a dust mitt over dresser tops and waited to show the place to the first person coming to take a look. Will they be able to imagine the way the light in June dazzles the westward walls in the morning? Or how it shifts by fall, giving us golden hours on late October afternoons? Should I mention that on snowy days, the slate roof across the street looks like a gigantic gingerbread house? That cardinals roost in the London plane branches?
By Tuesday evening, all but one stem of a deep purply hydrangea had drooped, so there aren’t any flowers in here now. It’s cloudy. I turn on lights and light a favorite candle. I wipe away the child-height splatter of toothpaste on the butter yellow bathroom tile and straighten the pile of New Yorkers.
They arrive and within minutes I can’t help myself but to mention that the church with the aforementioned clerestory was designed by the same fellow who designed Saint Patrick’s on 5th Avenue. I’m over-eager, as always, but will they appreciate the replaced medicine cabinet if I don’t point it out? The rerouting of the cables? The improved positioning of the fire alarm? The quiet gleam of an eggshell finish on the apartment walls? We have touch-up paint! No VOC! I continue to have no chill.
I say goodbye and close the door. I text them a sunset picture of the view from the roof in summer. All it takes is one other person to see the magic.